Get-A-Way, take 2: Last night I took a walk in the dark
by Michael Sharkey
Summary: On holiday in America, agent Tara King finds danger, mystery... and something more... at famed Palisades Amusement Park, on its final day of operation – September 12, 1971. [The YouTube paths for the song: dkNVwV5zquM & Q8KIdxXtX0M] FINAL UPDATE: Chapter 6 (conclusion) now posted. Thanks for visiting the Park. Safe travels home.
1. Halifax can wait

_**PROLOGUE**_

* * *

 **For those unfamiliar with Palisades Park or the song, these videos are helpful – and fun :-)**

 **[YouTube URL]/watch?v=dkNVwV5zquM**

 **[YouTube URL]/watch?v=Q8KIdxXtX0M**

* * *

 _ **Last night I took a walk in the dark  
A swingin' place called Palisades Park**_  
 _ **To have some fun and see what I could see...**_  
 _ **That's where the girls are!**_

 _ **I took a ride on a Shoot the Chute**_  
 _ **The girl I sat beside was awful cute**_  
 _ **And when we stopped,**_  
 _ **She was holdin' hands with me...**_

 _ **My heart was flyin' up, like a rocket ship**_  
 _ **Down, like a roller coaster**_  
 _ **Back, like the Loop-the-Loop**_  
 _ **And around, like a merry go round**_

 _ **We ate and ate at a hot dog stand**_  
 _ **We danced around to a rockin' band,**_  
 _ **And when I could, I gave that girl a hug**_ ** _–_**  
 _ **In the Tunnel of Love...!**_

 _ **You'll never know how great a kiss can feel**_  
 _ **Till you stop, at the top, of the Ferris wheel**_  
 _ **When you fall in love –**_  
 _ **Down at Palisades Park...!**_

 _ **[Fade out] ...down at Palisades Park... you know it's Palisades Park... down at...**_

 **Writer: Chuck Barris**  
 **Artist: Freddy Cannon  
** **© Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1: Halifax can wait**_

* * *

"Mother, this was supposed to be a get-away. No duties at all. Three days in New York, then my brother's family in Halifax. I've had it scheduled for months."

"Life comes upon us all, Miss King," boomed Mother's voice, with a slight distort, across the trans-Atlantic connection. ("Miss King" being his motherly way of putting his foot down.) "You will have many more opportunities. But for now, John Spurling is a key witness in the Hotchkins matter, and the other side will do anything to see that he does not testify. Halifax can wait. We need a trusted agent to keep a close watch on him, and make sure he reaches the hearing safely."

"What about holding him in protective custody?" she reasonably asked (although she guessed there would be some "reasonable" reason not to).

And sure enough, "Negative on that. He insists on his freedom, and might not be cooperative otherwise. Such is youth today," he opined, like a BBC commentator. "The lad barely agreed to a single companion, even. So we must accommodate. And you are in the perfect position to do the job. I promise you, Tara, a double holiday at the end of the assignment."

A particular point in this monologue caught her ear, and she followed up. To which he replied:

"I believe a month shy of his eighteenth."

"He's a seventeen year old _boy?"_

"A very intelligent and well-turned _lad_ ," Mother responded, with a touch of firmness. "And an equally fine young woman, such as yourself, should get on with him famously. I have authorized a generous expense account to your name, through Barclays, which should be available within the hour. And most important of all, the Crown will be eternally grateful for your service." With Mother, the line between high sarcasm, and true-blue sentiment, was sometimes hard to discern. But the expense account was welcome, at least. Such is life in the ranks.

She phoned her brother with the change of plans, although providing few details. (He knew not to inquire too closely into his young sister's work.) Then she met the MI-6 attaché at the New York consulate, for a briefing on the case and a review of known threats. Ninety minutes later, after wending through the usual absurdly redundant checkpoints, she knocked at the hotel room of young Mr. Spurling.

"Tara King," she presented herself, in her best civil servant tone.

"Please," the young man said, with an inviting gesture. "I was told you would be my guardian." His eyes glided from her feet upward, and Tara waited for the inevitable remark. It was like a formality, before business could begin. And she did discern a comment rising to his lips. But he nipped it, which impressed Tara more than any witticism could have. Perhaps, as Mother had suggested, this "lad" was a bit more mature than the usual lad of 17 (or 37, for that matter)

He politely seated her, and slipped into the small kitchen, from whence he returned with a plate of cakes and a pitcher of pulpy, ice-cold lemonade. The repast was quite delicious, and it was Tara, contrary to form, who paid the first compliment of the encounter.

Once finished, he put to her, "Have you ever been to an amusement park, Miss King?"

"You can call me Tara –" she began, and he quickly interjected, "Then you have to call me Johnny!" His grin showed him to be still the boy, as much as Mother's "well-turned lad." It was Tara's turn to be charmed.

"To answer your question," she continued, "yes, our parents would take us to Battersea Fun Fair during the summers. I haven't been there in quite awhile, but –"

"– but in that case," he took up her sentence in midflight, "you are the perfect person to come along today!" He reached over to an end table, for the morning edition of Newsday. On the front page, below the fold, was the story: "Last day for famed New Jersey landmark."

"Palisades Park..." she read aloud, from the first paragraph. "I think I've heard of that."

"Probably on the radio, from the song. It's legendary! And it's closing today, for the last time, after 70 years. There's just today, tonight, and then shutting down at midnight, forever."

She was starting to get the drift.

"Look – Johnny. You're safe here. The hearing is in three days. You've probably been to this park a hundred times..."

"At least! Well, close to."

"Then sit tight. We'll watch something on the telly, walk around the block, get some sandwiches, and I'll stay in the room right across the hallway."

"But I've never been to the park on its very last day...!" he explained. Tara touched her forehead.

An hour later they were crossing the George Washington Bridge, into New Jersey. Then from there, down the Fort Lee exit onto the 505, and up the Palisades cliffs. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, early autumn; with just that brisk, melancholy edge in the air that foretells the future. As they motored along, Johnny regaled Tara with the park's history, dating back to 1898 – and she, almost in spite of herself, began to catch the Auld Lang Syne spirit of the occasion.

But in the busy westbound lanes behind, was another car following them from New York. Someone with seemingly the same destination... but not the same spirit.

* * *

 _ **Coming next...**_

 ** _CHAPTER 2: A Beretta lipstick mirror_  
**


	2. A Beretta lipstick mirror

**Chapter 2: A Beretta lipstick mirror  
**

* * *

 _ **I took a ride on the Shoot-the-Chute,**_  
 _ **The girl I sat beside was awful cute...**_

* * *

When they reached the vast parking area, it was almost full. Crowded with cars and trailers, with license plates from nearly half the states and Canadian provinces. During the ride over, along with describing the park's history, he had enthusiastically sung the Freddy Cannon anthem (twice). His excitement was infectious. Rekindling memories of Tara's own family holidays, with her parents and older brother.

And in a certain sense, despite delaying her get-away, she was glad to be entrusted with this assignment. Even now she hadn't quite gotten over replacing, so to speak, the highly regarded Mrs. Peel. She still envied the respect her predecessor had so effortlessly commanded during her years with Steed. Remembered by all as the cool, intrepid, emancipated woman; a role model for young females everywhere. While Tara King – on the other hand – was the cute lass with the Diana Dors figure, who could never fill the boots of The Incomparable Emma. It was a frustrating situation. But lately she'd decided to stop trying to "fix" it. Resolving instead to just be honest, and professional; look out for her fellow agents; hit her marks, and do her duty _. Whatever reputation comes of that, let it come._

When they got out of their car, instead of heading towards the gate, Johnny led her to the far edge of the lot. To the split-wood railing that separated it from the Palisades cliffs, overlooking the Hudson River and the Atlantic. "I wanted you to see this now, in the daytime, how New York looks. When we see it again tonight, it'll be spectacular." Tara took in the panoramic view of sea, air, and the dramatic skyline on the far shore, and was indeed impressed. "Do you have cliffs like this in Britain?" he asked.

"Oh yes, all up and down the coast. Land's End to John o' Groats." She patted down her brunette hair, as the ocean breeze riffled through it. "Last year I was at a place called Carmadoc, on the North Sea. I took a dive off one, about like this."

He leaned on the railing, and scanned the turbulent waves. "You must have nerves of steel!"

"Well, it wasn't volunt'ry. A motorbike gave me the nudge." She looked along the rocky banks, and out over the broad, dark waters, and added wistfully, "I can't explain it... but I did feel something special about that place." Then she flashed a smile. "Like you do about here, I suppose."

They walked back towards the gate, along the drive paths, and wending through the vehicles. Music and crowd sounds drifted from the park up ahead, waiting for them like Shangri-La. Along the way they passed a car in the next row from theirs, with a UK plate. Johnny pointed it out to Tara, with delight. Tara noted the way the numbers and letters were coded... and was not so delighted. But she allowed it could mean nothing.

Once through the broad gabled entrance, they strolled down the center midway to begin with. The thoroughfare teemed with families, and music; the smells of delicious Coney hot dogs and cotton candy; the gleeful shouts from the Wild Mouse, bouquets of balloons, and the calls of game vendors. Tara munched on popcorn from a pasteboard box, while Johnny described the various rides and attractions, how they operated, and how long they had been there. He even pointed out where long-ago rides had once stood, which he had only read about, or been told of by his parents.

"It really is the end of an era," he reflected, in a tone beyond his 17 years (if almost 18). "No more local, family-owned parks like this will ever be built. It'll be big corporations, here on out." He pulled up, and stopped – and looked around at the sights that no one would ever see, or enjoy, again. "Three weeks from now, on October 1st, Walt Disney World is opening in Florida. That's the future. We are passing the baton tonight."

Tara was struck by the narration – and began to empathize with his desire to come today, risks or not. As they weaved their way through the crowds, and he continued sharing, she had the fey yet pleasant sense that she was shifting into a different world. Like a slow dissolve in a movie, from one setting to another. She and Johnny were here together, as protector and charge. But also in another way.

They had gone the full length of the first concourse, and halfway back the second, when Tara noticed, from the corner of her eye, someone closing on them. It was an odd-looking man with an oversized hat and dark glasses, and an overcoat too heavy for the September weather. He wasn't exactly running, but seemed to be lurching along, almost comically, on an intersecting path. Tara's instincts came alert. She shifted her popcorn, and eased her hand towards the polished Beretta "lipstick mirror" in her shoulder bag. In a moment the man collided with them. Apparently flustered, he apologized profusely – speaking very quickly – and headed off again. At ninety degrees from the direction he'd come.

"Well, that was strange," Johnny remarked, his voice somewhat muffled by a bite of hot dog. Tara walked beside him, frowning. She replied, "Yes. And what's even stranger..." – she looked back at where the man had disappeared – "...I think I know him. From somewhere."

"Your partner Mr. Steed?" Tara had mentioned him on the drive from the city.

She scoffed. "Not unless he can disguise himself 4 inches shorter, and cross the Atlantic by magic. But," she said, walking more slowly now, "perhaps we should cut the day short, and get back to the hotel. To be safe."

"Forget about _that_. This is –"

"I know, I know. The last day of the legendary Palisades Park. But there might be people who don't want you to leave here alive."

"Everything's a chance. We'll stick close, and keep our eyes open, and nothing will happen. At least," he added, with a winsome glint, "nothing bad."

* * *

 _ **Coming next...**_

 _ **CHAPTER 3: "We're going to make your dreams come true..."**_


	3. Make your dreams come true

**Chapter 3: "We're going to make your dreams come true..."** _ **  
**_

* * *

 _ **And when we stopped, she was holdin' hands with me...**_  
 _ **My heart was flyin' up, like a rocket ship**_  
 _ **Down, like a roller coaster**_  
 _ **Back, like a Loop the Loop**_  
 _ **And around, like a merry go round...**_

* * *

Tara laughed as her third shot in a row, at the Rifle Range game, whiffed past the lollipop target.

"I thought secret agents were sharpshooters," Johnny chided. "Are you missing on purpose, to pump up my male ego?"

"Your ego won't get any pumping from me," she replied. She cocked a practiced eye at the air gun. "These sights are so crooked, you couldn't hit your own house from inside." She handed the piece back to the vendor, and instinctively touched her purse.

"A prize for the lady anyway!" the booth man grandly announced, and presented Tara with a chubby blue panda bear. "The last day, you know," and he winked at Johnny. "Might as well clear 'em out."

She examined it, with a raised eyebrow. "Reminds me of someone I talked with this morning." She bestowed her thanks, and they set off again.

Further along, wanting her hands free, she gifted the bear to a young girl with a brunette bob, by the Jungle Land attraction (with mum's permission). The girl's innocent delight warmed Tara's own heart, and she visibly relaxed. Presenting an easy, unguarded beauty that Johnny couldn't help stealing glances of. As they walked on, he took advantage of her freed hands to casually take one of them in his. "So we look natural," he explained, with a sober nod. Tara hesitated a second; then let her fingers intertwine.

Rounding towards the landward side of the park, they strolled past the Flight to Mars with its bizarre artwork, the Loop-the-Loop, and the "World's largest" saltwater pool – a boast of the park for decades. (And Johnny did imagine his guardian in a swimsuit, wonderfully wet, lounging beside it.) He seemed to know half the booth operators by name, and almost all the ride jockeys. Not to mention the history of anything and everything. It felt to Tara like she was being shown through Buckingham Palace by Prince Philip himself.

Next was the Merry-Go-Round, one of the grandest in North America. The brilliant racehorses, on gleaming brass poles, brought back memories more than anything else so far. She flashed back to riding aboard a plunging palomino at Battersea, alongside her brother, as the fairground organ boomed – and looking back to see their parents kissing on the ornate bench behind them. And her brother yelling at her to "Stop peeking!"

They continued down the west concourse, and she could feel other memories, other connections, starting to link in her mind... starting to draw her in. But she was on duty, and resisted the thoughts – although she had to touch her cheek once, for just a moment.

Finally they stopped to watch the Cyclone, the park's famous roller coaster. It was a huge wooden scaffolding that stretched half the length of the park boundary, and made a terrific racket when the cars passed. "The original was the Skyrocket, in 1923," Johnny duly related during a lull in the noise. "It burned down in 1944, and this was built with the remains. It's a great trip!"

But Tara had already declared she would not go on any rides, bodyguard duties or not. "If you want to do something, go ahead. I'll wait for you at the exit ramp, like a good parent."

"Well, my parents are in Chicago, and they've been here a lot more than me. But I'm glad _you're_ here today." Nonetheless, riding alone wasn't his idea of fun; and he'd done everything a hundred times before. So he was fine with staying at ground level.

Although he did take note of one particular structure towering in the distance – for later on.

* * *

 _ **And when I could, I gave that girl a hug –**_  
 _ **In the Tunnel of Love...!**_

* * *

After another circuit of the concourses, they were sitting on a yellow-lacquered bench across from the Music Pavilion. Johnny was finishing his second Coney dog. Tara was just opening a fresh box of popcorn. She had certainly kept up all day, and it was Johnny needing the break. He rested his eyes a minute, as he listened to the ambient music. Thinking about the day – and other things. Then he looked around again, at the passing scene. "One ride I never saw – but wish I had – was the Tunnel of Love. Ever heard of it?"

"In old movies," Tara replied, with a shrug. "Do they still have them? Seems rather old-fashioned for nowadays."

"They had one here, in the Forties and Fifties. It's in the song. But you're right, it's long gone now. I've only seen pictures. It used to be right behind where we're sitting now." Tara hitched sideways, and looked over her shoulder. He continued, "I always dreamed about taking a girl, a special girl, on —" And Tara, still gazing back, interrupted: "Was the front red and yellow? And have a big sign on top? Written with curvy letters?" She danced her hand in the air, as she said "curvy".

"Uh, yes. It did," Johnny replied, puzzled at the leading questions.

"Was there a heart on the ticket booth?"

"Yes..." He planted his palms, and drew himself erect on the bench.

"And boats, with colored pennants on them?"

Now he turned to face her, more puzzled than ever. Not comprehending what was happening. Or how. She looked back at him, with an odd, mischievous smile.

And winked.

"Then let's take a ride."

Johnny swung a glance behind them – and read the cursive sign, above the colorful entrance. And saw the heart on the booth. He turned further around, his glance turning into a stare. The red-and-gold pennants, the old park colors, fluttered on wooden wands above each entering boat. The lazy, rhythmic music drifted towards them, like an invitation.

Tara smiled wider... looking right at Johnny. It was a look of promise, and pleasure – and abandon. She lifted a hand, and her fingertips touched the side of his face. Holding his gaze.

He couldn't turn away from her eyes; away from that wanton smile. She leaned close, and whispered in his ear, "We're going to make your dreams come true." Her warm, sensuous breath speaking as much as her words. Then she stood, and grasped his hand; and began leading him towards...

"We're going to do what?" she asked. His eyes opened, and he looked at Tara, beside him on the bench. Studiously munching her popcorn; waiting for him to answer. A rhythmic melody wafted from the speakers above the pavilion. He glanced behind him, then back at her. "All done dreaming?" she asked now, as she picked a bit of hull from her teeth. "What's next?"

He looked down at his empty hand. Then around again at the milling crowd, in the late afternoon sun. "Reality, I guess."

* * *

 _ **Coming next...**_

 _ **CHAPTER 4: "Don't ever be sorry..."**_


	4. Don't ever be sorry

**_Chapter 4: "Don't ever be sorry..."_**

* * *

After their second round of cherry Cokes, Johnny headed towards the men's room next to Ghostland, while Tara waited by a ring toss booth across the way. With her academy-honed habits, she took the opportunity to scan the area for threats – and noticed a tall, hulking man watching Johnny enter the lavatories. Unlike with the previous stranger, she recognized this face for sure. It was earlier that day, in the mugshots she reviewed. He was a New York hit man, named Burke – and he apparently had Johnny on his to-do list.

A minute later he started heading towards the men's room entry, where Johnny had gone. Tara likewise started across the concourse, with no hesitation about confronting him in there or anywhere else. But at that moment Johnny emerged, and sauntered towards her. The other man pulled up, and began circling around, between the various rides and booths. Johnny came up to Tara with a bright smile. "All set. Let's go!"

Tara sized up the situation. She tapped Johnny on the chest, and told him she had to find a ladies room.

"But you said a minute ago –"

"I just said I do _now_ ," she repeated, with a testy tone that she hoped would intimidate him. He did back down, rather sheepishly, and she made a mental note to apologize later. "Wait here, till I get back." And she began circling in the opposite direction as the man had walked.

She paced herself carefully, losing sight of Johnny, the hit man, or both, and then catching them again, amid the milling crowds and souvenir vendors and food stands. The man, moving the other way, slipped into a booth that was closed, with the tarps dropped on all four sides. Possibly to ready something, or lie in wait.

Tara sidestepped carefully between the booth and the adjoining one, until she stood directly behind the crease in the canvas where the man was standing. She peeked through the gap, drew back, and gave a low whistle. The man came close to explore, bent down, came even closer – and Tara lunged both arms through the gap, and pulled him back through it with all her weight. She teed up his hulking frame, and delivered a left cross, and right cross. Then she socked a booming uppercut that reeled him backwards to the ground; his head landing on a steel-plated circuit box, with a bounce. The impact stunning him cold.

Tara straightened up, wearily and warily. When he didn't move, she breathed a sigh of relief, and began thinking ahead. But even as she relaxed, the box started sparking and smoking. The goon's eyes opened, and he rose like Frankenstein, with a roar. The close quarters worked to his advantage, and against hers. As he came at Tara, she swung a hard right, towards the hinge of his jaw – to gain a few precious seconds, and a foot of clearance, to draw her Beretta. But her punch snagged on a guy line, and he managed to grasp her throat with both brawny hands. Tara struck at his neck with karate chops, to no effect. Her kicks couldn't quite reach his vulnerable points; and her purse dangled behind her, just out of reach. Within seconds, with her breathing cut off, and the carotid artery, her struggles began to weaken. He squeezed tighter, with a grin, as her voice gurgled; and her arms sagged. Then tighter still. Her eyes started to roll back. She was caught; her options gone.

It was the end, at last. She knew it. She had seen home for the last time. The slender shaft of sunlight through the canopy, from a foreign sky, would be her final glimpse of life. If she died, she knew Johnny would be next; and she made a final effort to raise an arm, to land a blow. But the arm fell limp.

The light faded; her eyes closed. Images flickered in the darkness. A keen wind; a path by a distant shore. Things done, and not done... and now never to be. Then even these dimmed, as her body surrendered, and she slipped beneath the water. And with perhaps seconds left, two other hands brought down the same circuit box, still sparking, upon the brute's head. He released Tara, and turned around in a rage. Johnny froze in fear. Then he raised the box overhead again, forcing himself to endure its heat and shocks – when the attacker's eyes rolled even as Tara's had, and he fell in a heap to the dusty ground. Johnny dropped the smoky, flaring circuit box, and nursed his smarting hands for a moment, before rushing to Tara.

He sat her up – and, with her youth and fitness, she started to recover. "Th-thank you," she said in a husky voice, as she massaged her throat. Then she looked up at his face, and in a lower, clearer voice, "Thank you... very much."

His eyes were haunted. "I'm so sorry. This was my fault. I insisted on staying here."

"No," Tara said, a touch hoarsely, but firmly. "It's his fault. Just him." She placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Don't ever be sorry, for living your life."

They made their way out of the back area, into the sunlight. Tara gave herself a minute to savour the world, and being alive, when she had thought it was over. Then she was curious about something else. "Why did you come looking for me, anyway?"

"Well, there was a ladies room right next to the men's. So when you took off the other way, I figured something was up."

Tara had to smile. She made another mental note to plan her clever maneuvers a little better – although she was glad this one wasn't so clever after all.

Now she looked around for a telephone box, to report the incident to New York, so they could arrange to scrub the scene. But instead she saw, lurching towards them, the short, oddly-dressed stranger from before. Tara, though weary, separated from Johnny, to bring any attack away from him, and to herself. But Johnny resolutely stayed by her side, and glanced around for something more wieldly than a circuit box this time.

However, the man pulled up to a halt, and exclaimed, "Miss King! What happened? Have you been assailed?"

Tara peered in, under the floppy brim, and the man pulled off his dark glasses. Tara, even in her aches and fatigue, almost laughed. Almost.

"My gawd... Watney?" The dedicated Agent, Second Class, came to attention at his name.

"At your service, suh!" he snapped to the young gentleman.

Tara crossed her arms and said to Johnny, "Remember that cliff dive I told you about? This is who reported me dead." Watney, oblivious to any irony, beamed proudly. "Duty seen, duty done," he declared.

Johnny, now relieved, got into the lighter mood. He asked the new arrival if he was here for the park's farewell.

"Oh no, suh. I have been on special assignment in the New York office for the past six months,"– Johnny gathered from Tara's expression that Special Assignment might be more like exile – "and was aware of your case. When I learned... in-di-rectly... that Miss King would be your protector, I took it upon myself to shadow you here. So as to be on hand in case of peril."

"Well, Watney," Tara chimed in, "I am truly pleased. We would be grateful if you could take care of the gentleman who, umm, assailed me. He is reclining right between those two tents. I promise to commend your initiative to Mother, and perhaps we'll see you back in London for tea."

"That would be jolly!" he replied. He snapped a salute and, with somewhat dramatic glances left and right, moved into the rear area to take charge of the scene.

* * *

 _ **Coming next...**_

 _ **CHAPTER 5: Hitting the dance floor**_


	5. Hitting the dance floor

_**Chapter 5  
**_

* * *

 _ **We ate and ate at a hot dog stand,**_  
 _ **We danced around to a rockin' band —  
**_

* * *

Tara quickly regained her trim. Though young, she was already a veteran of such bouts. But Johnny guessed she could still use a respite, although he knew she wouldn't say so. He guided her, subtly he hoped, down a cul d'sac at the southwest corner of the park's acreage. To show her a secret entrance to the grounds. The park's longtime owner was in his late seventies now, and in poor health. (Partly the reason for tonight's closure.) He was a famously kind man who loved children, although he never had any of his own. Early on in his tenure, his groundskeepers reported a gap in the fencing that local schoolkids were slipping through. He told his staff to let it be. He had grown up in poverty, in Czarist Russia, and wanted any child who couldn't afford the gate admittance to be able to visit anyway.

Tara was surprisingly touched by the story. She even stepped through the gap, and back again – probably the final person in history to do so – to share the experience of so many excited youngsters over so many years, sneaking into Paradise. _Everyone's dream,_ she reflected. Then, on an odd impulse, she reached into her shoulder bag. She sorted past her personal items, passport, U.S. currency, and Beretta, and extracted a certain jeweled brooch she had found at a curio shop in April. On Easter morning it was, in fact. She'd felt it meant something important, at the time... yet rarely wore it. But she pinned it on, now.

They stopped at a hot dog stand for one more Coney apiece, "to keep our strength up." (Johnny had a explanation for everything.) Then they meandered down the south loop, past the Dodge-em cars, and Swiss bobsleds, and the Batman Slide. The tall structure he had eyed earlier, still loomed in the distance – ready and waiting.

As the sun was setting, she and Johnny finally ducked into the Music Pavilion, which they had passed by twice already. Live acts would be onstage that night, but for now a DJ was spinning records. There was quite a crowd nevertheless, both at the tables and on the floor, while the Top 40 songs rocked forth. When Johnny and Tara walked in, the last verse of Freddy Cannon's anthem was just fading out. Tara sighed. "Thank goodness. I think we heard that 10 times just walking around."

"Plus my acapella versions," Johnny added cheerily. "But you're in luck! Since it's the last day, they'll only play it 200 times more." They slid into an empty booth, and watched the dancers while Three Dog Night's own anthem, Joy to the World, shook the speakers. Followed by Tom Jones, the Jackson 5, and to Tara's particular delight, the Stampeders. Then sure enough, by popular demand (as the DJ put it), the familiar calliope intro played yet again. _"Last night I took a walk in the dark..."_

Johnny got up, and stood in front of Tara, with his arms open wide, and his smile wider.

"No, that is _not_ going to happen. Absolutely not. No dancing on duty."

"All right," Johnny said. "I'll just have to wander off, and find somebody else. But it's a small park. I'm sure we'll bump into each other later..." He turned away, and took a step.

"Johnny...!"

He turned back and, with a gentler smile, extended just his right hand this time, towards her own. And they moved into the throng.

With her natural grace, and "field experience" in London's club scene, Tara handled the rock 'n roll rhythms with ease. Most of the dancers did little more than shuffle from foot to foot, and herky-jerk their hands. Tara instinctively merged her feet, legs, hips, shoulders, arms, and hands, into a smooth flow. Her body a sensuous river in motion, while her head was still. Holding eye contact... a devastating eye contact... with her partner.

Johnny was not a pro, but still held his own. About halfway through the song, he asserted himself to take her hand – and, in the nostalgic spirit of this closing day, spun and twirled her in late 50's style. And quite deftly, Tara noted, as she synched her steps with his.

As the final verse began, he grasped her waist with both hands. Tara leaned back, relinquished control, and entrusted herself to him, as he lifted her from the floor. She was ready for a down swoop; ready to swing her legs past him. But instead he simply held her aloft, steady as a rock; and gazed up at her for a long moment. Tara looked down, into his blue eyes; and he slowly lowered her to the floor, as the final notes faded away.

As her feet touched down, their faces were inches apart. Johnny's arms, or maybe Tara's hands on his shoulders, drew them an inch nearer. And nearer yet.

The throng faded from awareness. Her eyes gently closed; her head tipped slightly. Her lips began to part. Then her eyes suddenly snapped open. She splayed her fingers against his lapels, and said haltingly, "M-music is over."

Johnny sighed. "Yeah. Only 199 left to go."

They stayed in the Pavilion, and split a Jersey plate – burger, fries, and onion rings – at a ringside table... and on the house. "Compliments of Emilio, for the last day," said the beaming waitress, referring to the manager ("Friend of dad's," explained Johnny.) They dawdled afterwards over root beer floats, and spoke comfortably, and more intimately, about their disparate lives "across the pond." Later on Johnny took the stage to introduce a young local he knew, named Bruce Springsteen, who was filling in for a no-show. It was well after dark when they returned to the midway.

They spent the rest of the evening strolling the grounds, enjoying the happy crowds, and excited children, and the "last night of Mardi Gras" atmosphere. Johnny was keen on seeing the farewell fireworks at midnight, so they would have to stay for that. Meanwhile Tara checked in with New York about 11:00, and all was well there. Watney, contrary to all expectations, had done an excellent job with the clean-up. She would indeed commend him to Mother, as promised, and see if she could get him un-Special-Assigned back to London.

* * *

 _ **Coming next (and last)...**_

 _ **CHAPTER 6: Midnight ride**_


	6. Midnight ride

**_Chapter 6: Midnight ride_**

* * *

Around 11:30, Johnny steered them through the crowds, towards the attraction he noted earlier, and had been aiming for all day: The tallest structure in the park, the Palisades Sky Wheel.

"I know, I know," he said, mocking her a bit, "you weren't going on anything – and we haven't! But for the very last ride...? On the last night?"

Actually, she had already resigned herself to indulging him at least once. So she said Yes.

"Great! Just wait here a minute. I know George the operator," – _of course_ , Tara thought – "and I want to make sure we're on the last trip. I want everything right." The wheel was turning at the moment, and Johnny jogged over to the platform. He explained things, and pointed up at the wheel, although Tara could hear nothing amid the music and crowd noises. George glanced over to her, then nodded and smiled, and Johnny came back to Tara.

"All set. George figures he'll have two more loads, then we'll get on for the third and last."

So at 10 minutes to twelve, the last car was loaded, and the wheel began the final rotations of its existence. Johnny and Tara, with the other riders, swept eight, nine, ten times around – the giant neon spokes and revolving motion creating a kaleidoscopic effect – with Tara, in truth, enjoying it almost as much as her enthusiastic companion.

As they slowed to a stop, the car in front of them happened to be the first to unload. Meaning their own car would be the last. Tara wondered a moment if this was Johnny's idea; but decided the operator just wanted to give them the fullest ride.

As they slowly circumnavigated backward, upward, and over, in stops and starts, Tara reflected on the day. And even, somewhat strangely, on her career and her entire life. A life that had almost ended that very afternoon. She reached over and took Johnny's hand, and said, "Thank you again for saving me."

He smiled shyly, and wet his lips. It struck Tara as the first time she'd ever seen him nervous. "Thank you for protecting me," he said. "And... for coming here."

They looked into each other's eyes... like before, on the dance floor. But now, as they held the gaze, she felt his fingertips brush her temples; and gently stroke her hair. She trembled... and then realized it was the night breeze, running its own fingers through her tresses.

She released her grasp, and patted his hand. And withdrew hers. She turned aside, and felt monumentally awkward. Thinking to herself, _Who's the nervous one?_

As their car finally reached its turn, and swung downward to the disembark platform, the wheel jolted a bit. They moved past the yellow line, and the operator called out, "Sorry folks! Had a problem. We'll fix it, and get you down in a jiff." Tara glanced at his face and thought she caught a smile, as their car, alone, rose again on the back arc. Then she swung her gaze back to Johnny. He shrugged innocently – but with the slight glint from before.

As they mounted the upper arc, she looked over the edge of the car, towards the operator in the booth far below... who didn't seem to be fixing anything very fast. Then again at Johnny.

He shrugged again, and didn't bother with innocence this time. "Just three minutes to midnight. I couldn't deny my protector the best seat in the house." And they indeed stopped at the very top; the highest perch in the park. Higher than the cliffs themselves. The car rocked gently a few times, then settled to stillness.

The thousands of lights, of all colors and brightness, were spread across the landscape below them. Masses of people were clustering in the open spaces, for a view of the coming fireworks. A riot of stars shone in the deep blue heavens above. With the silver moon just cresting the western tower of the GWB. And further in the distance before them, across the dark Hudson waters, lay the incredible spectacle of New York City.

The sight truly was magical. Eight million souls; one of the great cities of the world. Stretched before them, like the Milky Way galaxy brought to Earth. Tara had seen London from such a vantage, on approaching Heathrow at night. But she had to admit this was wondrous. And she had to admit something else —

 _When two souls faced danger together, and stood by each other through it, something was almost always kindled. Perhaps a friendship, or at least a new respect — or even something more. But that's not why she came to America. Nothing could come of this. It was a different world. Her true world was England, and Steed, and her career. That's where she would find what she wanted, and needed. Not here. Not now._

She resisted; yet felt it overcoming her. She put a hand on the safety bar in front of them, as if seeking a moment's support. If she could hang on another minute, just one more minute, the moment would pass. She could return to ground... return to New York... return to London. With no baggage; no problems. Just a winsome memory. But the gorgeous lights, below and beyond... the soothing breeze aloft... the stars above. His nearness. Her heart whispering, _Do it... do it..._

No _._ She had duties, and responsibilities. Things to do; tasks to accomplish. She had no time to be enchanted by a kindly spell, on this September night, like that Midsummer night in Shakespeare's glade. Making her forget her mortal concerns, and yield to the moonlight.

Her mind kept going back and forth. _Seventeen, for God's sake. But what was it, a month till eighteen? And already topping so many "men" she had known. But still... still..._

She turned her head from side to side, like Ulysses fighting the Sirens' song.

 _No._ It was so unprofessional. So unwise. What about tomorrow? What about everything? There would be so many tangles, and uncertainties. _Not here... not now._

Johnny turned to her. A silent gaze. She tried to tell what he was thinking; and at the same time, feared to know. She had believed her inner yearnings, and conflicts, were well-concealed. She was, surely, as cool and collected as Emma Peel, or any modern, liberated 1970s woman.

But she saw him look at her, and through her.

And he said, "Someone once told me... Don't ever be sorry, for living your life."

They closed, into a kiss more passionate than any ever dreamed, as the fireworks burst overhead for the last ride in history. Tara giving herself to it, and to him, completely. Promising everything, at last, without let or stay. Such that no man could do anything but return it in full, and he did.

As the anthem rose from below, one last time, they tipped their heads to the side, and pressed the kiss even more deeply. Johnny slipped his arms around her, and Tara placed a hand behind his head, as the wave of passion swept away any thoughts of wisdom, or caution, or restraint. She could only give herself, body and soul, as the fireworks exploded above them. Inundating the sky, the wheel, the world, with color and thunder. There was nothing now but the present moment. Nothing else mattered at all. Nothing on Tara's mind, as they embraced between Heaven and earth, except to hold the kiss forever. And let tomorrow be tomorrow.

Perhaps what Mother had said of Halifax... was true of everything...

* * *

 ** _You'll never know how great a kiss can feel_**  
 ** _Till you stop, at the top, of the Ferris wheel,_**  
 ** _When you fall in love – down at Palisades Park!_**

 ** _[fade out] ...down at Palisades Park... you know it's Palisades Park... down at..._**


End file.
